Tomorrow Tomorrow
by gentillealouette
Summary: ON HIATUS  Months after the events of Black and White, something sinister is taking root across the sea.
1. Prologue

Hello! I've been planning this out for quite some time now and am SO EXCITED to start sharing it! It's my first chapter fic in literally years and years, so I'm not sure what to tell you about update speed and chapter lengths. Likely - sporadic. Haha. But anyway, I wanted to explore some of my headcanon surrounding the Gen V characters and this began to take shape. I hope you enjoy it!

xxx

**Prologue**

_People are very evil creatures and will hurt you if they can._

N raised his eyes pensively to the ceiling, eyes fixing on his aeroplane mobile. He was unused to being alone now, after so long travelling the cities and towns of Unova, meeting with different trainers and their Pokémon. Eyes following the movements of the mobile, slumped on his knees by a brightly coloured train set, he cleared his throat and murmured to himself, "people are very evil creatures and will hurt you if they can."

Growing up, N had been subjected to proof over and over again. Countless injured and neglected Pokémon had been brought before him, each squeezing his heart with fearful eyes and trembling paws, flinching away when he stretched out a hand. He'd heard stories from the Sages of the never-ending cycle of oppression and suffering. Slavery. N knew the cruelty of humanity; he'd carried the weight of its incomprehensible, callous ostricisation, felt the ache of its ceaseless brutality.

The toy train hit the end of the track, paused jarringly, and then pushed off in the other direction with a rattle. N cast it a glance and sighed. Of course he realised that humanity was a stain, an ugly and selfish blemish on the face of a strained planet. Of course he realised trainers couldn't be trusted. Of course. Every kind and intelligent person he had met was just an anomaly. N knew this, intellectually. But there was a pronounced difference between intellectual knowledge and to understand something, to feel it as a truth, to believe in it wholeheartedly. And, N thought, drawing his knees to his chest and burying his face in his arms, his belief was waning. His belief had been waning ever since he first met the boy in the red cap, with the quiet passion in his eyes, the depth of belief so strong as to shake even N's. Black, he thought, did not mistreat his Pokémon. White, Cheren, Bianca, Alder. In fact, N thought helplessly, the only person he had ever known to inflict abuse on anything, person or Pokémon, was Ghetsis.

But N needed to believe. He needed his father to be right. He needed to defeat Black. He bit his lip, drew in a shuddering breath. What else did he have?

The door to his room opened with a mournful creak. N looked up in surprise, hurriedly brushing hair from his eyes.

There in the doorway, silhouetted in the light from the hallway and resplendent in robes of blue and gold, stood Ghetsis Harmonia himself. His lip curled as he surveyed the room. "N, the Black boy is fast advancing through the castle. You should be in the throne room."

N nodded, petulantly, and hugged himself bracingly before getting to his feet. "Ghetsis?"

Ghetsis raised his eyebrows.

N hesitated, fidgeting with his sleeve, and then raised his eyes to his father's. "I'm going to try and defeat Black," he said, "and I believe…I want to believe….that I will succeed, because the depth of my conviction outweighs anybody's. I love Pokémon, Ghetsis. All I want is to end their suffering. But G-...Father...what if I lose?" N took a deep breath, making an effort to slow his rapid, clipped speech to a restrained murmur. "What if I'm not strong enough? What if Black _does _believe more strongly? What if we're wrong? What if -"

"You are strong enough," said Ghetsis abruptly, scowling. He closed the door behind him and stepped closer. "You are strong enough. You believe more strongly. We are not wrong."

"I'm not sure, Father," N confessed, his voice cracking, "I just don't know anymore. Since I began my travels, I've met trainer after trainer who treats their Pokémon with love -"

"Enough!" Ghetsis roared, jolting N backwards. "How would you understand the mentality of a trainer, boy? How long have you spent in the company of humans? A year, at most. You cannot comprehend the things I have seen trainers do to their Pokémon. People," he growled, "are very evil creatures and will hurt you if they can. The eternity of slavery to which they have subjected your own friends! And you _doubt _it? N, you are the strongest Pokémon trainer in the world and if you cannot defeat some snot-nosed _child _–"

"Father!"

Ghetsis stopped, eyes blazing.

"I don't want to, Father," N croaked, overcome suddenly by panic; it crashed over him in wave after wave of paralyzing anxiety, and suddenly he couldn't feel his fingers anymore. In all of his twenty-one years N had never known fear like this. All of his formulas and grand speeches had lead to this battle; this was the culmination of plans in which N was not even sure he believed any longer, this was the deciding moment of his worth. And N remembered, suddenly, being presented over and over with irrevocable proof that he was worthless, that he understood nothing, that he could achieve nothing and touch nobody, and he was certain beyond doubt that he would fail. _He would fail._"I will fail," N said, and his eyes glazed with wonder as the truth sunk in.

His epiphany was interrupted by an explosion of pain in the side of his head that sent him reeling; propelled headfirst into the wall with an ugly crack, N cried out and brought his hands instinctively to his face. Ghetsis's hand was raised, stiff and foreboding, ready to strike again should N contest him once more. His eyes were cold, his mouth set in a hard line.

Ghetsis advanced further and N retreated, shoulders squared, back hunched, hands drawn protectively to his throat. Pressed up against the wall, a rubber toy squeaking beneath his foot. Ghetsis jabbed a finger into N's chest. "Your entire _purpose_ is the liberation of Pokémon, N. That is what I raised you for, and that is what you will bring about. What else is there for you?" His voice was ominous, laced with disdain. "What _if _you were to fail? Just imagine it. Deserted by everybody, purposeless and without any idea how to function in human company. You don't belong in either world – the purity of Pokémon is beyond you and the corruption of humanity disgusts you, and is disgusted by you in turn. You loathe humanity, N. You've certainly been given enough reason," and N paled, thinking of bruises and asphyxiation and the horrible pain in his behind and of blood, his blood, filthy metallic imperfect human blood, and Ghetsis was continuing, "remember the pain of those Pokémon that surrounded you, N. Remember your own pain. How can any species capable of inflicting such pain be allowed to perpetuate itself? We cannot prevent the injustices of humanity in and of itself, but we can free the oppressed, N. We must. You cannot afford to lose. You simply cannot."

N was staring at the ground, eyes round as coins, hands clasped beneath his chin, and when Ghetsis touched his shoulder he recoiled violently, out of reflex, tripping on the rubber toy and hitting his elbow painfully against the wall.

"Our new world…your new world, _my Lord_, is ripe for creation. The time is now. You will succeed. You must."

N closed his eyes and controlled his breathing, with difficulty. He thought of Concordia and Anthea, gentle and reserved, who believed in him; thought of the adoring multitudes, all their hopes and dreams invested in this very battle, who believed in him; thought of a young Zorua, battered and limping, and the thousands of Pokémon whose struggles he embodied. He thought of Ghetsis, tormenter and protector, who'd held him close as he wept for the plight of his friends, who'd so painstakingly demonstrated to him ("Do you think I do this because I want to, boy?" – a shuddering gasp, a whimper of pain – "You must learn. You must understand. You must become perfect.") the cruelty and the senselessness of humanity. His idol. _His father_.

N did not (would not, could not) think of Black.

"I…" He swallowed. Something in him steadied, hardened. He hadn't come so far just to lose his nerve. "I understand."

Ghetsis's face softened, the callousness settling in his crimson eyes. "N," he said quietly, "you are the prophesised hero. Zekrom has chosen you, and nobody else."

N looked up to see his father smiling benevolently, and his heart skipped a beat. Ghetsis bent to leave a kiss on the tip of N's tousled head. "Understand," he murmured, "that I believe in you."

"Yes."

"You are not wrong, N."

"Yes."

"You are the most powerful man in the world."

"Yes."

Ghetsis inclined his head, apparently satisfied. "You should put on something more dignified. It would be unseemly to meet your destiny in…sneakers and a jacket."

"I'm fine."

"As you wish." Ghetsis stepped back and looked his son up and down. "Don't let me down, N."

N nodded. The door swung closed behind Ghetsis with a groan.

The toy train hit the end of its circuit and reversed again. The side of his head ached.

N crossed the room slowly to the small mirror that hung on the wall. It had been installed when he was much younger, and he had to bend down to see himself in it. An austere, neurotic face glared back at him, seafoam grey eyes wide and alert, an unsightly bruise forming by its temple. He said, decisively, "you are the most powerful man in the world. N Harmonia, you will rule the new era." That's right; he was the hero of ideals, saviour of the weak and forgotten, bringer of peace and equality. How could he doubt it? With Zekrom at his side, he was unstoppable.

N smiled and the man behind the glass smiled back at him, coldly. He straightened up, feeling that he'd quelled his unease for long enough, hopefully, to defeat Black. Tenacious, fatigued little Black. He could have been great, if he had only accepted N's ideals and agreed to support him. It was a shame, but it'd be all right; so N told himself, and so, for a moment, he almost believed.

xxx

It wasn't ten minutes later when the door swung open and N, sitting serenely upon his throne, watched a stocky, diminutive figure emerge, closing the door quietly behind him. The throne room was huge and imposing, tiled in gold and adorned in deep blue hangings. He smiled, heart hammering in his chest, as Black approached tentatively. _This is it_. N cleared his throat and called out. "What I desire," – and his voice was steady and authoritative, and he could win, _he would win_– "is a world for Pokémon, and Pokémon alone. I will separate Pokémon from people once and for all, so Pokémon can regain their original power." He rose slowly and began walking down the carpeted steps.

From a distance, N could see Black's mouth tighten. He stopped in his tracks, on the threshold of the bridge. "You're deluded. I won't let you do this."

N smirked and beckoned extravagantly. "It's time to settle this once and for all. My determination is absolute! I will prove the value of my beliefs even if it means my Pokémon friends get hurt! Since you've come this far, I believe you are equally determined." _But you are wrong, Black, and I am right. _"If that's so – prove it to me. Show me the depth of your conviction."

Black took a deep breath and stepped onto the bridge, pressing forward with a quiet, reluctant assurance. As he watched the boy come closer, N was seized by a wildly confident exhilaration, observing the small hands, the tightened, trembling lips, the too-big clothes that hung from Black's body; he was a little boy playing in his father's work boots, an untrained child soldier praying to Arceus in the trenches. "You're a fanatic and a manipulative liar," Black told him, fists clenched at his sides as he came to stand opposite N. "Even though you don't know any better, I won't hold back. You're only going to hurt people and Pokémon."

N lifted an eyebrow, in vague amusement.

"I just –" Black paused, and then sighed, shaking his head. "It's a shame, N. You could have been great." And with that the young Champion reached into his pack, drew out a smooth white sphere and held it over his head.

The rivals stood opposite each other, bracing themselves, and – nothing happened.

N stared. Gradually his lip curled into a wry smile as his excitement waned. So Black wasn't special. So N's new world would be created without resistance...

"You came all this way to battle me. But Reshiram isn't responding…you haven't yet been recognised as the hero, have you?" He chuckled a little, cholerically, shaking his head. "How disappointing. I actually kind of liked you a little."

Across the hall, he heard Black's breath catch in his throat. "N –"

"I got the feeling that you might be trainer who truly cares for Pokémon! But I was kidding myself," N spat. "The idea of trainers getting to know one another through battles is ridiculous. You have two options, Black." His voice was cool and self-assured. Now, without question, Pokémon could be separated from trainers forever. Now, without question, N could achieve equality. He could tear from Black his beloved Emboar and Seismitoad and Leavanny – _oh Arceus, no_. He shut his eyes tight and Ghetsis's voice echoed in his head: _you are not wrong. You are the most powerful man in the world. _"Challenge me to a fight you can't win, or leave this place and watch the birth of a new world. Where Pokémon are free of people…" N opened his eyes to see Black shaking his head in desperation. Bracing himself, he lifted a hand. "Zekrom! Come to me!"

"N, please –!"

But it was too late, the castle was trembling ominously and N trembled with it and he was not wrong, he was not wrong, he was not wrong, and the wall collapsed behind him as a monstrous coal-black creature burst through with a deafening roar and landed heavily before Black and N whispered, "I am not wrong," and Zekrom began to pulse with electric blue, and N's new world was so close he could almost taste it – bitter and dry.

But Black was distracted. "It's vibrating," he squeaked, and held up the Light stone weakly, staring past Zekrom and into N's face.

N stared back at him. "Your Light stone is…I mean, Reshiram is…" The stone drifted skywards and hung suspended above them both, and for a moment the two heroes held each other's gaze. Black mouthed something, his eyes wide, imploring, but N couldn't make it out, and there was no time –

Then the stone cracked and exploded in a blinding white light, and Black flinched away, and N watched it with a sense of foreboding. _I am not wrong._ _Ideals will always prevail…_

When the light faded, in the place of the stone was a huge, elegant white Pokémon, curled into a ball. As it drifted to the ground, the Pokémon roared and lunged towards Black, and N watched in deep concentration. "Reshiram and Zekrom," he began quietly. "They were once one life. One Pokémon. Complete opposites, yet the same." _Two halves of a whole…and yet Reshiram chose Black. Why? _"Zekrom and Reshiram are Pokémon that appear before the hero they recognise. You really are a hero, too."

_Well, of course, in order to achieve one's ideal, one must be prepared to fight for them._ And N was prepared. Black's eyes, fearful as he grappled for a Pokéball to challenge the guardian of truth for its friendship, didn't beg his insecurity. More important than Black were the hundreds of grunts who'd so passionately guarded N's ideals; the six Sages lined up in the entrance hall, buying him time; his father, who'd spent twenty-one years pouring his efforts into N's perfection, who trusted him so completely with the realisation of the ultimate ideal, waiting by the door for his son to emerge victorious, the uncontested King of their new world. No, Black was nothing. Humanity was nothing. N would not lose. N was not wrong. N was not wrong. _N was not wrong. _And N was going to win.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter one at last! (Not that anyone was waiting, haha.) This is too short, but I thought it was a good place to end a chapter. Enjoy!

xxx

**Chapter 1  
><strong>  
>At first – loath though he was to admit it – all Black had been able to do was cry. Staring after Zekrom as it faded away into the endless blue sky, he'd begun to feel the prickling around his nostrils, the rising heat in his cheeks. Whispering "damn it" he'd heard, vaguely and as if from a great distance, a girl's voice calling his name. Bianca, running up the steps to her friend and followed by White, had been there to catch Black when he fell, weeping and cursing this whole fucking hero business. Though he'd since recovered, his friends quietly agreed that he hadn't been the same since the battle.<p>

That had been the beginning of the end, White reflected, in retrospect. Black had decided to return to their hometown of Nuvema, declining to help Looker in his search for the Sages, and White had seen neither hide nor hair of her friend in six months. Cheren had crossed the sea to a distant island, hoping to challenge its league and become, as ever, stronger. Bianca, left dithering and tearful in between the two escapees, had found salvation in the Nimbasa Gym Leader, Elesa, who took her under her stylish wing and began to train her as an assistant. White herself, as stoic as ever, had simply picked up where Black left off. Not many of the Sages had put up a fight anyway, and White liked Looker with his humour and his funny mode of speech. Before long, she had defeated Alder and taken her place as the Unova Champion. Cheren, she thought with some satisfaction, would just die.

And so it went – life in Unova continued, uneventful and even bland without the constant threat of world domination by villainous organisations. That was why White almost welcomed the prospect of crisis, two summers after the four trainers had taken their first step onto Route 1 together.

She was sitting cross-legged on the roof of the League's Pokémon Centre when her Xtranceiver rang for the first time in months. To her delight, staring out from the screen was not, as usual, the lined and anxious face of her father, but rather Cheren, brow furrowed in an expression of endearingly earnest concern.

"Cheren!" she exclaimed, sitting forward in excitement. "Long time no see! How's the world?"

"It's big," he replied, unsmiling. "Hoenn is very beautiful, you'd like it here. That's why I called, actually."

"Hmm?"

"There's something happening over here, White. Something that, I think, might interest you."

"Tell me!"

Cheren shook his head. "I think you should come, and we'll discuss it here. You've money for the ferry, right?"

"Yes, but –"

"The city is called Lilycove. You won't be disappointed. I'll be waiting," Cheren said, and disconnected without further ado. White blinked open-mouthed at the blank screen.

_What in the world is he on about?_she wondered, and reclined with a sigh, thinking the situation over. Well, she reasoned, it couldn't do any harm. Alder was still perfectly capable, and hadn't White been hungering for an adventure? The League could do without her for a couple of days. The Champion tucked in her legs and sprang nimbly from her roof. Turning to enter the league, she cupped a hand to her mouth. "Alder!" she called. "Hey, can I ask you a favour?"

xxx

Summer in Nimbasa was not the balmy haze of contentment Bianca had grown up in. Unova's Capital of Entertainment was brighter and busier than Nuvema, and somehow sweatier and more frantic as well. Bianca loosened her vest and sighed as she leant back against the wall of the gym. She loved working under Elesa, but there were few jobs less demanding for a girl of sixteen. She was exhausted. But furthermore, she was excited – Elesa had granted her the afternoon off. Today was special. Today, Black was coming to visit. It was to be the first time Bianca had seen her closest friend since the ordeal with Team Plasma – six months ago.

Bianca worried endlessly about Black. Cheren was smart and tough, insecure but tenacious enough to take care of himself. White's easy, brash charms and stoicism carried her effortlessly through trials. But Black, though hardworking, was not tough or enduring – Black's strength lay in his intensity, the depth of his passion and his capacity for empathy. He internalised everything and when he fell, Bianca knew, he fell hard. She was sure, though he'd never told her, that there had been something more between her friend and the man who spoke to Pokémon. Bianca didn't understand everything, but she understood that Black had been dragged into the battle against Team Plasma without warning, understood that he had been 'chosen', whatever that might mean, and that the pressure had almost destroyed him.

That was why, as she made her way to the southern city entrance under the sweltering Nimbasa sun, Bianca swore to make Black's visit as comfortable and pleasant as she could. She felt that if she couldn't help him out of this funk, he may not want to leave Nuvema again – and the last thing Black needed was more solitary confinement.

She spotted him at last making his way from the Route 4 terminus, looking slightly bedraggled with sand but hearteningly optimistic. Her heart leapt. "Black!" she called out, and broke into a run, flinging her arms with abandon about his neck. "Black, I've missed you!"

Black laughed and hugged her, burying his face in her shoulder. Bianca felt his fingers clutching the fabric of her shirt, and wondered fleetingly how long it had been since he'd been around another person.

"It's good to see you, Bianca," he mumbled, and she kissed his cheek amiably.

"I'm _so _glad you're getting back out into the world, Black! I have the most lovely afternoon planned out…"

"Yeah?"

And they slid into an easy camaraderie, as if the last six months had never passed. Black was smiling, and Black was laughing, and she felt a missing piece of her had been reinstalled at last, that maybe her makeshift family had a chance of reuniting. Maybe Black could be happy once more. Maybe soon Cheren would come back home, too. Maybe they could all be together again. As she led Black around Nimbasa and told him of her adventures with Elesa, Bianca felt a sense of peace envelop her like a warm embrace, dreams of a happier future filling her flighty head.


	3. Chapter 2

ugh the ending of this chapter is the worst. I'm sorry, so, so not quality. I just wanted to get it over with, those last 400 words were terrible to push out. (I like writing about Black the best. Can you tell?) - ah, and I've gotten a question about pairings - I don't want to give too much away, but the one thing I can say with absolute certainty is that there will be no ferriswheelshipping, not even the tiniest hint. Sorry. Ferriswheelshipping makes me a little bit sad haha. Anyway, enjoy!

**Chapter 2**

The sun beat down on the attractions and the buzzing crowds of Nimbasa with a relentless stagnancy. Having passed most of the past six months in the quiet, air-conditioned refuge of his room, Black was, it had to be said, suffering. But Bianca barely seemed to notice the sludgy heat as she towed him around the city, and her hand didn't so much as sweat within his; she walked with a skip in her step and talked incessantly and cheerily of the theme park, the Musical, the Stadiums and Elesa this, Elesa that, as if there was nothing more to it. It was a strength of hers, he thought appreciatively, to be able to express only that which was necessary to make others happy and leave everything else as irrelevant. Black was glad, despite the sand and the noise and the heat, despite himself, that he had come out to see her. Perhaps they had both needed it.

Still, though.

"But Arceus, it's hot!" he growled, stuffing his jacket into his bag. "I don't remember it being so hot when I was last here!"

"It was Autumn when you were last here, sweetie," Bianca reminded him. "Don't get moody now! The best part of our afternoon is just coming up!" She swung his hand excitedly, and chuckled. The sky above was starting to dull from fierce midday blue to the dusty teal of late afternoon, but the humidity had only increased. The crowds of tourists were dispersing to trendy cafés and movie theatres, and children with happy-go-lucky Blitzle and Cottonee retreated to the shade of their homes. Black scratched his head.

"And what is the best part?"

She swung to face him. "Close your eyes," she said, grinning. Black complied. Taking both his hands, Bianca led her friend carefully around the corners and through the alleyways. But he knew – could feel the coolness of the Ferris wheel's shadow as they stepped into it. He smiled wanly when Bianca squeezed his hands.

"And…ope-"

A sudden crash cut off the climax of their afternoon. Black's eyes flew open and Bianca whipped around, releasing his hands, as the dwindling crowd by the Ferris wheel scattered hurriedly, screeching. A cloud of dust had risen by the wheel, the ride ground to a halt, young lovers and families screaming from their carriages. From the centre of the crowd resounded a raw, keening growl.

Black's stomach dropped. He hardly even dared to hope – but pushed through the milling multitudes anyway, heart pounding almost painfully in his chest. "No way," he breathed, making his way hurriedly to the front. "No way…"

Sure enough, there before the wheel's control centre lay a gigantic black dragon Pokémon, tail whipping back and forth pathetically, sprawled on the pavement. Murmurs of consternation and anxiety passed through the congregation. Black found he couldn't breathe.

"Black!" It was Bianca's voice that finally made him turn his head, eyes stretched wide. His friend took his arm when she caught up to him. Gasped at the sight. "Oh, no," she whispered. "That can't be…"

Black nodded mutely, trembling, and dropped to his knees by the prostrate Zekrom. He stretched out a hand to touch its monstrous neck. The dragon writhed beneath his touch, and roared. He flinched.

"I-it's okay," he whispered to it, bending his head to Zekrom's. "I don't want to hurt you, I'm a friend, remember?" A thought struck him. "Unova's hero, like – like him. The hero of truth."

It thrashed its tail, hitting the ground with a crash. (The wrong thing to say, perhaps, to the legendary dragon of ideals.) Another dust cloud rose, and the crowd fell back with whoops and yelps. Black winced, and began stroking the creature's neck. It felt rough, dry and much too warm to the touch, and his heart sank. "What has happened to you, Zekrom?" he asked softly, and pressed his face into its jaw. "Where have you been?"

And, voice breaking at last, as his closest and oldest friend looked on with worry in her eyes and disappointment churning her stomach, as the people of Nimbasa conversed excitedly and cameramen pushed through the calamity, as Elesa parted the crowd with a deafening roar and emerged to restore peace – "where is N?" Black asked the dragon in terrible, heartwrenching earnest. "Where is N, Zekrom? Where is N?"

xxx

White had disembarked at the strange and foreign city of Lilycove to find Cheren waiting impatiently at the port. The trip had been a couple of days long and White, ever the adventurer, had rejoiced in the salty winds and exotic varieties of Pokémon. Cheren, who was clever and hardworking but not at all worldly, looked sicklier than ever in the chilly sea air, jacket tucked tightly around him and greeting her with a curt nod as she approached.

"Did you know this is the biggest city in Hoenn?" he'd groaned. "The _biggest_. I should have gone to Johto."

"It's good to see you too, Cheren," White had laughed. "Come on, let's get out of the wind. I'm sure you have a lot to talk about."

And they'd thereby come to the Lilycove Museum, where they now strolled, White examining the paintings with interest while Cheren sipped on a bottle of lemonade, sharing the stories of the past six months. White held chastely to Cheren's arm, occasionally burying her face in his shoulder to suppress her laughter; the time passed, and White finished her story at last. She turned her face to Cheren's, smiling. "But gosh, can I talk," she said. "What did you call me all the way across the sea for, anyway? I'm settled in now; you can drop the formalities."

Cheren's face hardened. "Ah…well, you see – I was hesitant to call you the first few times. I couldn't be sure. But today, they vanished right before my eyes. It was unmistakable – straight into thin air."

White's brow puckered. "Who?"

He turned his sombre gaze to her, mouth tightening. "Three identical figures, thin, white-haired. It isn't hard to guess."

And White understood; her mouth fell open. She grabbed at Cheren's arm again. "No way! The Shadow Triad?"

"The very same." He nodded.

"You're sure?"

"White…"

White stepped back again, and shook her head. "Of course. I'm sorry, of course you're sure. But what are they up to?"

Cheren paused, leaning back against a wall, his face thoughtful. "Well, they wouldn't allow themselves to be seen if they didn't want us to notice them," he said finally. "Things have been going missing lately, White. All around the region. They're trying to catch our attention. Provoke somebody, perhaps. I think – it could be…"

A loaded silence passed between the two friends. White brought a hand to her head. "Oh, no," she murmured. "Not - ?"

Cheren nodded. They stared at each other.

"He's planning something, White," he said. "That has to be it. They're indebted to him, after all...him, and nobody else."

White paled, bit her lip. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. Disaster brewed, and how could they ignore it?

"Ghetsis," she said softly.


End file.
